Oil on canvas(28.10.01)

Oil on Canvas (28.10.01)

I heard the painting of a poet spoken on the radio
I'm stirred by the essence of his words
He's talking about a picture
He's taking us to a place past pain
We laugh at the fun and the black biology
Of kids and pets with their weapons of humor.

Then an arrow through the thigh and a closed and down-bowed eye
In a museum without walls waits to be classified
As the new agents of national service
Busy themselves before hypno-screens of
Sinister dispersal in the secret city of Chimera.

I see the prophetics of a scientist inferred on the TV
I sense the alchemy in his deeds
He, S. Popov so technically sweet
Takes on the guise of terror in chief
Designing the new bad bugs
Of ebola, legionella, smallpox, (Stepnogorsk).

daveangel2002